) 1885 



9 I88r~ 



POEMS 



3^ 



AIvONZO BODELIv. 






*1^^ 



I FEB-nBI55«W 




COLUMBUS, O 

Press of Hann & Adair 

1885 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1885, by 

Alonzo Bodell, 
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



OS 






t^ 



HE AUTHOR of the following lines lays no claim to 
the title of Poet. He believes that name too sacred 
to apply to any but those who have dedicated their lives 
to the Muse — who have become priests in the temple of 
song. These verses were written during moments of leis- 
ure, between hours of study, and if the same hand ever 
again contributes to literature, it will be under like con- 
ditions. This book cannot be a failure, because it is not 
intended to be a success. The poems have been written 
with the same peculiar pleasure manifested by a child in 
gathering tinted shells by the sea shore, and, as a child 
launches its treasured collection upon the waters to see 
them sparkle and float a moment before sinking forever, 
so I give my collection to the world, expecting them to 

meet with a like fate. 

Alonzo Bodell. 



CONTENTS. 

Page. 

ABNER DIU 5 

TEMPEST 15 

THE STAR - . . 20 

THE REAL 21 

CALLING 23 

TO A FRIEND 25 

A SAGA OF LIBERTY 27 

AGONY 30 

DARKNESS 32 

LONGING 34 

FANCY 36 

A SONG 37 

TO 39 

A RHAPSODY 41 

SONNETS TO THE GRACES— 

Faith 43 

Hope 44 

Charity 44 

A DREAM OF THE IDEAL 46 

THE IDEAL 52 

A SONG 55 

THE SACRIFICIAL LAMB 56 

A LYRIC 60 

EXTEMPORE (After reading the first part of Faust) . 63 

TWENTY-THIRD PSALM 65 

A VISION 67 

ALONE 71 

PASSING 74 

LINES 76 

THE WHIP-POOR-WILL 78 

WORTH AND BEAUTY 81 



ABNER DIU. 



"Why wails the wind so wild to-night? 

The by-gone day was cairn and bright — 

No sign of tempest in the sky — 

But now the elemental war, 

With pealing crash, and stunning jar, 

On wings of terror thunders by!" 

Thus cried the aged Abner Diu, 

As wild the waving forest through, 

His frightened charger sped; 

But swifter far the lightning flashed, 

And swifter far the whirlwind dashed, 

And the thunder rattled, and roared and crashed, 

And drowned the words he said. 



(5) 



The night was as wild as a night could be: 
The tempest shrieked out as in agony; 
And the terrible rage of the storm-lashed wood 
Might vie with Charybides' fiercest mood. 

Why, all alone, on this wild, wild night, 
Through this dismal way, and in headlong flight, 
Rides the ancient man ? What fiends give chase, 
To spill his life in this dismal place? 

All vain the flight! Mount the storm-steeds 

and dart 
To the ends of space, but a sin-soaked heart 
Will rankle and burn in the tortured breast, 
And seal the doors of the fountain of rest. 
He rides most well who outrides the guilt 
Of young love blighted, and life-blood spilt. 

The night is as wild as a night in Hell! 
But, compared to the storm in that ancient breast, 
The thunder's fury, the tempest's swell 
Were types of serenest, unbroken rest. 

The black steed flies, like a shade, through 

the night, 
And a host of black memories fly as fast, 

(6) 



But not alone they follow the flight; 

For, speeding along the wind-swept course, 

Comes another rider, another horse, 

As swift as a flash from a storm-cloud cast. 

The ancient man marked not the steed 
That followed his flight with so wild a speed, 
He marked not the night nor the tempest-s din, 
They were lost in the darkness and storm within, 
And ever, as swiftly he rode along, 
There burst from his lips a sad, wild song. 

"O fair, lorn lily, O wind-swayed flower, 
Thy bloom was crushed in an evil hour! 
Thy pure, white bloom — almost divine — 
But the hand that did it was none of mine!" 

On through the forest swept the race: 
The unknown rider gained apace, 
Until he reined by Abner's side. 
And bending forward, hoarsely cried: 
" He is not wise who rides alone, 
When thunders roar, and forests groan! 
An hundredfold more wise is he 
Who rides in goodly company. 
Then let us, bound the selfsame way, 
Make time go by as best we may." 

(7) 



Old Abner turned his stony eyes, 
And gazed in stupefied surprise. 
A moment later, and his blood, 
Which erst with horror stagnant stood. 
Mounts to his face in fullest flood. 

His hand, with youthful vigor, springs 
To where his massive pistol swings. 
He draws, and rises in his seat, 
His eyes with maniac fire replete. 

''Ride back!" he cried, '' If life be dear 
Dare not to follow folly here! 
For I have sworn, the man shall die, 
Who dares molest me as I fly!" 

Calmly the stranger answer made — 
''Keep down thy frenzy, Abner Diu, 
For useless rage tells bloody tales — 
When fury reigns and reason fails. 
Fair innocence is blighted too." 

Back in his seat old Abner sank; 
Back to his heart the hot blood shrank; 
His slackened hand the pistol dropped, 
It seemed as every pulse had stopped; 

(8) 



It seemed, that stranger's words were fraught 
With undertone of awful thought. 

"Keep down thy frenzy, Abner Diu, 
And I will cheer our lonely way 
With pleasant tales, till dawns the day, 
With tales of wonder, strange and true. 

Listen ! The false may reign supreme. 
The true be vague as vaguest dream ; 
So hear the tale I now shall tell, 
Mark thou the truth, and mark it well, 
But if no truth therein abide, 
Cast it, an idle thing, aside. 

For he who speaks devoid of truth 
But vexes those who pause to hear; 
While he who utters words of sooth. 
Commands alike the heart and ear. 

Upon a time, it reek's not when, 
There was a man, it reek's not whom. 
For there be many times and men. 
And winters freeze, and summers bloom, 
And men and times go by — but then 
There was a man whose bloom had fled, 
And left white frost on beard and head ; 



(^J) 



A man who to fierce turmoil sold 

His years of youth, for joyless gold, 

And deemed that pleasures founts would pout^ 

From out the red heart of the ore, 

And, rippling down his life's decline, 

Make age a blessing, death divine; 

And thus the maniac worked and dreamed 

While sweat and tears in torrents streamed. 

Take all the gold beneath the sod 
And wring it in the hands of God, 
And not one drop of joy shall flow, 
To bless the tortured world below. 

When Age had drawn her keen-sheared plow 
Across his swarthy cheek and brow; 
And joy withheld her cup of cheer, 
Though gold, in mountains, shimmered near, 
The fool found out his life's mistake, 
And swore full solace yet to take. 

" He swore his horded pelf should yet 
Redeem his sacrifice for it; 
He deemed that hoary age could buy, 
With wealth of gold a wealth of love — 
The richest gift of God above — 

(10) 



And from that hour his restless eye 
Sought everywhere the fated flower 
Destined to grace his withered bower. 

" He found her, won her — God knows how- 

Nor does the method matter now; 

I only know that slander swore 

She thought much on his golden store! 

"They two were wed! And he who looks 
For pictures new in ancient books; 
Or he who deems a crystal stream 
Can mix with waters thick with mud, 
And still flow on a limpid flood, 
May deem they merged upon a dream 
Of fullest bHss — but thou can'st tell 
Whether they found a Heaven or Hell! 

''Keep down thy frenzy, Abner Diu, 
For thou must hear my story through! 
I say not 'tis a twice told tale. 
But, if thou hast a secret thought, 
Be calm, and deem I know it not! 
Subdue thy passion's aimless gale; 
Thy reckless rage in fetters hold, 
For half my tale is yet untold. 

(11 



" Cursed she the hour in which she met 
The dark-eyed stranger in the dance! 
From that ill hour her fate was set, 
For love flung off his empty trance. 

''She loved him, and her husband knew, 
And from his breast the false one threw; 
And this was well, but when he knew, 
Another sweetest waters drew 
From out his Marah, all his soul 
Was torn with rage beyond control. 

" He deemed he loved the tender maid 
Whom Fate had cast against his breast; 
And swore she should in death be laid, 
Along with him whose lips had pressed 
Her own, in love's exultant kiss — 
Now, Abner Diu, pay heed to this! 

" Where flowery branches over head 
Spread jeweled arms and interlaced, 
And soft grass yielded to the tread. 
Alone a man and maiden paced, 
And on that fairy haunted ground. 
They talked of love and joy new-found ; 
While close behind an aged fiend 
With leveled weapon forward leaned! 

(12) 



'* Swift was the leaden death-bolt's dart 

That pierced the life-spring of that heart * 

Which dared to taste forbidden love. 

He fell in a stupor at her feet; 

He clasped her knees, and death was sweet. 

" The words were gall which that fierce tongue 
Then poured within her riven heart! 
Nor one whit more his dagger stung, 
When that soft breast was cleft apart. 
She fell beside him where he lay, 
Their hot blood mixed and sank away. 
The blood-embedded dagger lay, 
Deep buried in life's crimson spring, 
And seemed; in saintly guise to sing — 

" fair, loin lily, zvind-sivayed flowei^ 
Thy bloom was pieixed in an evil Jionr! 
Thy pure, ivhite bloom, almost ditmie — 
But the point that did it was none of mine.'' 

He ceased. The tempest wilder grew; 

In endless chains the lightning flew; 

But, I say that the storm in the sky was rest 

Compared to the storm in that ancient breast. 

(13) 



Sudden the stranger wheeled his steed 
Straight in the front of Abner Diu — 
Cut short the charger's headlong speed, 
And from his form his mantle threw — 
Great God! The face was of the dead, 
And the shroud-wrap'd bosom was wet and red ! 

The ligtnings quiver, and shiver, and flash ; 
And the thunders rattle and roar and crash; 
And each sat stark in his rooted place, 
The murdered and murderer, face to face. 

The morning broke, all wild and red; 
For the clouds hung low, tho' the storm had fled, 
And the fitful gust still hurried by, 
Breathing its burden of sob and sigh. 

The villagers 'rose with the rising day. 
To meet the sun on his upward way; 
But another guest they first must greet, 
With horror and mystery all replete. 

For a steed with the morning comes thundering 

down. 
From the reeking woods t'ward the startled town ; 
And stark and stiff, the village through, 
Dead in his saddle rides Abner Diu. 



(14) 



TEMPEST. 



I. 



*'My life is cast among the mists, 

I hear the breaker's rattling breath, 

My boat drives on where'er it lists. 
For what care I for Hfe or death? 

"Ay, what care I for death or life, 
Or fiend or devil after death? 

And what to me are worlds of strife? 
Strife is my spirit's vital breath! 

''Hell's fiercest demon is a cJdld, 

Compared to those I hourly quell! 

What reck'd I if the pit be wild? 
My brain contains a wilder Hell! 

(15) 



''Then blast and blow the stygian horn; 

And blow and blast and blow again! 
The night is black! but curse the morn 

That dares dispel its dream of pain! 



**Hush! Idle words! For ne'er again 
Along that sky shall morning glow 

And break my bitter spell of pain — 
Yet sweet — for pain is all I know, 



''Or care to know! For joy descends 

Makes soft the heart, and mild the eye; 

Then, into outer blackness blends, 

And leaves the weakened wretch to die. 



"So follow, Anguish, as I go 
To fill an av/ful destiny; 

But whither, shall no mortal know; 
And few will strive to follow me. 



"Then blast and blow the stygian horn. 
And blow and blast and blow again! 

The night is black! and never morn 
Shall dare dispel its dream of pain ! 

(IG) 



II. 

"Ho ho! ho ho! The black waves bound, 

By the tempest to fury stung, 
And eddies of sound whirl round and round, 
Like a song by chaos sung. 

"Full well that lay to me is known, 
For my brain hath sung it o'er 

Till my being resounds in unison 
With its wild discordant roar. 

' * Then weld the darkness against the sky ! 

Let the tempest shriek in a frenzy of glee ! 
The breakers shout * Death, ' but what care I ? 

The change will scarcely be htoivn to me ! 

"There ivas a change that tore, like a blast, 
My spirits, till then, untroubled seas, — 

But hush ! Wherefore conjure the perished past? 
Let its murdered memories rest in peace. 

' * But I swear by the Power that rules above. 
That, e'en now, the scent of a crushed flower, 

Comes, breathing an odor of days of love, 
Through the darkness and curse of this 
awful hour. 



(17) 



"The fragrance grows heavy, my senses spin ; 

I curse the spell that dissolves my night! 
Must the massive darkness, without and within, 

Give place to a flood of flimsy light? 



"No! Anguish, go fill thy cup with gall, 
And stir the juice of the hemlock in! 

Hold it close to my lips ; I would drink it all, 
And deep in my soul mingle poison with sin ! 



"The black cup slips from the bony hand. 
And gurgling sinks into the sea! 

The light is growing, the wild waves stand, 
And hushed is the tempest jubilee! 

"I wait my fate with a mind unstirred. 

But a heart made wild by passion and pain, 

And the ghosts of memories long since blurred. 
Returned to their ancient seat again. 

"I wait my fate, whate'er it be, 

With a face arrayed in a smile of scorn — 
Whether to sink to the depth of the sea, 
Or arise to the land where the day is born." 

(18) 



III. 



up through the depths of the glowing east 
Rolls the golden curtain of morn; 

And eddies of sound whirl round and round, 
As fresh as the day, new born. 

On emerald leaf the crystal dew 

Hangs bright as a Christian soul. 

As broad and high through the morning sky 
The sapphire vapors roll. 

Freshness and lustre are rife without, 
Are darkness and dampness within? 

O God! when such beauty is all about, 
What soul can harbor sin? 

But weave no web of conjecture abroad! 

Seek not to fathom the right or wrong; 
For a stern soul's flight to the judgment of God 

Is a theme beyond the flight of song. 



(19) 



THE STAR. 

The wild star gleams thro' the rifts in the cloud, 

Like a hunted deer in a dismal wood ; 
And it trembles and trembles and trembles and 

trembles, 
As if scared at the tempest's riotous mood. 

O fair, lone star, so wild and weary. 

Let the thunder roar, and the lightning fly; 

For the storm shall fail in its cloud-beds dreary, 
And the broken fragments be swept from 
the sky. 

Whilst thou shall glitter and glow eternal. 
In thy firm, fixed place on the heaven's bend ; 

Aught that obscures thee is but diurnal — 
The beginning knit by a span to the end. 

My life gleams wild through the rifts in the cloud 
Of passions ungoverned and sins unforgiven; 

The lightning is sharp, and the thunder loud; 
And the blue is wiped from the face of heaven. 

But I feel that, somehow, the same great law 
That shields the light and dispels the gloom, 

Will Hft my soul from this dismal slough. 
And place it in lands of eternal bloom. 

(20) 



THE REAL. 



My life is fraught with fairy dreams, 
And bright ideals, richly glowing ; 

With fancies, born by haunted streams. 
Through elhn regions softly flowing. 

Imagination's meteor light 

Gleams red and green along the heaven; 
And with weird lu.stre fills the night, 

Which no strong ray of truth hath riven. 

Up, up, my soul, and cast aside 

This Persian dream, this vague ideal! 

Up, up, my soul, and clasp thy bride; 
Fling fables by and grasp the real! 



(21 



Weak is the life which thou canst drain 
From Fancy's chaHce ether brimming; 

Better to quaff a cup of pain 

In which the germs of Truth are swimming! 

Then up, and burst the painted sphere 

Which whirls thee 'round in giddy motion ; 

And Truth's strong radiance, fair and clear, 
Shall flood thee in a glowing ocean. 



Up, up, my soul, and cast aside 

This Persian dream, this vague ideal 

Up, up and clasp thy waiting bride; 
Fling fables by, and grasp the real. 



(22) 



CALLING. 



In the darkness and the silence 
Of thy temple, O my God, 

I have waited, waited, waited; 
I have called, called, called; 

I have bowed with head uncovered; 

I have knelt, with knees all bare, 
On the cold and flinty surface 

Of thy jagged altar stair. 

But thy silence was unbroken; 

And the darkness of thy place, 
Hanging heavily before me. 

Veiled the glory of thy face. 

(23) 



I have sought thee, O my Father, 
'Neath the Hghtning's fiery girth, 

When the thunder from the zenith, 
Plunged headlong upon the earth. 

I have sought thee when the moonlight 
Shimmered through the fragrant air; 

Where the folded flowers were sleeping, 
But, O God, thou wern't not there. 

Why dost thou so far withhold thee 
From the fullness of my cry? 

From the frenzy and the fervor 
Of my calling — why, O why? 



24 



TO A FRIEND. 



I. 



Darkness is tinging the purple skies, 

The earth is doffing her mantle of light; 

And I scent the odors that richly rise 

From the fragrant wings of descending night. 

II. 

In the dreamy hours of the evening's birth, 
When long shadows proclaim that the night 
is nigh, 

When a mystical stillness fills the earth. 
And a mystical lustre gems the sky, — 

(25) 



III. 

When soft shadows slip through the lonesome 
grove, 

Dimming the sunset's glorious glare; 
When the leaves with murmuring melodies move, 

And the flowers breath balm on the listless air. 

IV. 

Then memory dippeth her brush in tears, 
And painteth a picture in colors sublime; 

A varying picture of faded years 

That float through the voids of by-gone time. 

V. 

And I think of the hours when we roamed alone, 
By the rich, red light of the full-faced moon, 

And my inmost spirit utters a groan. 

To think we have parted, and parted so soon, 



(26) 



A SAGA OF LIBERTY. 



A scald stood lone by the midnight sea, 

While the winds around sighed dismally ; 
His massive head so large and white, 
Like a snowy summit cleft the night; 

And striking his harp with a wild, wild glee, 

He sang a saga of liberty — 



* * Roar, roar, roar ! 

Ye depths of the northern sky 
Ring to the hammer of Thor 

Or Woden's battle cry. 

(•27) 



"For Valhalla's halls are free, 

And the warrior's dauntless soul 

May drink of the ale of Liberty 
From Woden's brimming bowl! 



''Let the frozen tempest's tear 
Over fields of ice and snow, 

Lit by the red aurora's glare. 
Or the lightning's lurid glow. 



" For the sea-king's halls are /7re, 

And his wild retainer's all 
May drink of the ale of Liberty, 

Neath the shade of the spear-deck'd wall! 

"Then roar, roar, roar! 

Ye lightning-sheeted sky; 
Ring to the hammer of Thor, 

Or Woden's battle-cry. 

"Let the icebergs wheel and crash 
In the dismal northern sea; 

And the flags of the lightning flare and flash 
With the deathless joy of the free!" 

(28) 



The scald stood lone by the midnight sea, 

And sang this Saga of Liberty. 

The winds replied with a wild refrain, 

And the thundering surge took up the strain. 



And the scald said, ** O sea, your saga divine, 
So mighty and massive, hath shamed mine." 
And, drawing his cloak 'round his stately form. 
He passed from the shore, through the night 
and the storm. 



(29) 



AGONY. 



Weave a garment of pain for the dead, dead day, 

A garment of pain and fears; 
Wrap it ' round and ' round, and lay it away, 

All soaked in a torrent of tears. 



For its depth are black with blackest dole; 

With woe, which it slow distilled, 
In venomous drops through my agonized soul 

Till my very heart was killed. 



Go down, black day, to thy blacker grave, 
Go down, and leave me alone; 

With a chorus of sighs for thy funeral stave, 
And thy farewell blessing a groan. 

(80) 



Come, shadows, come, urge your lagging flight ; 

Come quickly, and bring relief, 
For death lurks hid in the airs of the night. 

And I long to be rid of grief. 



Come, dismal consoler, stand hard by my side, 
As I stand by the failing day; 

Let not thy hand fail thee, or idly bide, 
But strike, and go your way. 



Ay, go your way, all black and lone, 
And I will go mine to — where? 

Can agony stifle her heart-sick groan. 
And fashion her lips to a prayer? 



(31 



DARKNESS. 



Darkness holds eternal sway, 
Weak and transient is the light; 

For the night cleaves not the day, 
But the day divides the night. 



On the yellow hills that tower 
O'er a lone and dreary land, 

Lieth prone a faded flower, 

Prone upon the rain-soaked sand. 



Mingled with the raven's cry 
Is the owl's unearthly hoot; 

The black river rushes by. 
And the echos are not mute. 

(32) 



Prone the fallen blossom lies, 

Prone upon the rain-soaked sand; 

' Neath the vapor-shrouded skies, 
In a dark and dismal land. 



Darkness holds eternal sway, 

Weak and transient is the light; 

For the night cleaves not the day. 
But the day divides the night. 



(33) 



LONGING. 



I. 



I long for the touch of soft arms, to-night, 
Clasping my neck in a warm embrace ; 

For the air is swayed by the raven's flight, 
And the bittern calls from its dismal place. 



11. 

I long for the kisses of love-heated lips, 

For the passionate pressure of breast to breast, 

For the owl's black wing in the darkness dips. 
And my soul is stirred by a vague unrest. 



III. 

Come, gentlest Fancy, come into my heart, 
With thy forehead by twisted garlands crown 'd ; 

With thy lips by melodies pushed apart. 
And thy airy lyre with the poppies bound. 

(34) 



IV. 
Sit close to me in this dismal hour, 

And its terrors shall spread their wings and 
flee, 
For I love the scent of the poppy's flower, 

And thy lyre's entrancing melody. 

•» 

V. 

Come, chant me a slumber song, soft and low ; 

Chant low and soft while the shivering shade 
Recedes and advances, with paces slow, 

On the glimmering expanse by the lamp-light 
made. 

VI. 
Come, chant me a slumber song, soft and low ; 

Let opiate odors circling arise. 
And burd'ning the air, above and below, 

Push down the lids of the weary eyes. 

VII. 
Then my soul shall be dead to the dismal night, 

Dead to the black pinion's rustling sweep ; 
But doubly Hve, in a dream of delight, 

' Mid the haunted vistas of roseate sleep. 

(;55) 



FANCY. 



Alas, what pictures Fancy paints; 

What rich, full tints and hues combine, 

Blending in harmony divine, 
Until the raptured spirit faints. 



The purple fruitage shimmers fair, 

And beckons, from its emerald depths, 
The wanderer to turn his steps. 

And feast in blissful languor there. 



But Fancy's fruits and pictures pass 

Like summer lightning glow-worm's spark. 
And leave us in the utter dark. 

To weep alone — alas, alas. 



(36) 



A SONG. 



From " Testol.' 



I dreamed I saw a silver bell, 
High hanging in a flowery tree, 

From which there rolled a rhythmic swell 
Of everlasting melody. 



But through the boughs a dank wind rushed, 
And many a fairy blossom fell. 

And down into the dust was crushed 
By those who came to hear the bell. 



O there is not a single joy 

That thrills within the human heart, 
Without a bitter tear alloy — 

Each healing balm has its own smart. 

(37) 



But Mother Nature has been kind, 
And every sorrow has its end; 

For grief prepares the human mind 
To grasp at joy, and with it blend. 



Perhaps I ne'er had loved so well 
My own fair love, if in my youth, 

My heart had felt no passion swell, 

Had known no grave of blighted truth. 



Then what if pleasures up and soar? 

What if the laden bough be cleft? 
We are but led to value more, 

That which to our hearts is left. 



Then kiss the hand of Destiny, 

And smile against the clouded sky, 

For joy and light more gloriously 

Shine out, when grief and gloom go by. 



(38) 



TO 



Euterpe, come murmur thy mellowest measure, 
And Flora, thy freshest of roses bring forth; 

A garland to weave for the world's richest 
treasure, 
A model alike of perfection and worth. . 



The organ's deep tone, and the soft-sighing 
zephyr. 
Their sweatness and pathos promiscuous 
throw, 
Where, as bright as the diamond, as soft as the 
sapphire, 
Embedded in beauty, this jewel doth glow. 

(39) 



The violet's frail form and the rose's rich cluster, 

Their fragrance and beauty harmonious 

combine ; 

With an unsparing hand adding perfume to 

lustre, 

And Nature's sweet breathing makes beauty 

divine. 



Euterpe thus murmurs her mellowest measure, 
And Flora her freshest of roses brings forth ; 

And a garland is wove for the world's richest 
treasure, 
A model aHke of perfection and worth. 



40 



A RHAPSODY. 



Let there be a ringing chime 
In the rhythm of my rhyme; 
Be a fervor and a frenzy and an ecstacy subHme. 
For I sing of beauties rare, 
Lovliness beyond compare, 

Precious things to earth intrusted, worthy of 
an angel's care. 



Let my wreathed harp resound 

With an ecstacy of sound ; 

And with heavy-hanging music, burden all the 

air around, 
With a music that shall rest. 
Like the ladened air caressed, 
Swayed in slow and fragrant eddies by the 

rose's swaying breast. 

(41) 



For my heart is all ablaze, 

And my brain is in a maze, 

In a maze of glowing fancies, floating in a 

golden haze; 
And I feel the frenzied thrill, 
Of a love beyond my will— 
Of a love whose fierce intensity must either 

make or kill. 

Then let there be a ringing chime 
In the rhythm of my rhyme ; 
Be a fervor and a frenzy and an ecstacy subhme ; 
And let my music gush 
With a resonance and rush ; 
Gush and glow like vapor masses, when the 
eastern heavens flush. 

Such would be a tribute mete. 

Mete for one so pure and sweet ; 

Pure as consecrated cherub, hovering o'er the 

Mercy-seat ; 
But, alas, it is in vain 
That I wake the raptured strain, 
For the eloquence of beauty bids me pause, 

and so remain, 

(42) 



SONNETS TO THE GRACES. 

FAITH. 

Within the deep recesses of the heart, 
A Hving flame burns mystically bright; 
Its gleaming rays a thrilling warmth impart, 
And neath its sacred radiance all is right. 
Doubts and misgivings flee before its light ; 
It binds the present, past, and yet to be, 
Into a form of glorious symmetry. 

O Faith, where'er thy matchless glories shine, 
The ambient air is swayed by angel palms, 
The lily wreaths that round thy altars twine, 
Wave in the music of a thousand psalms, 
Poured forth from hearts on which thy healing 

balms, 
Have fallen and healed doubt's malignant sore, 
Which, wrankling, spread its venom to the core. 

(43) 



HOPE. 

There is a beauteous angel which doth speed 
'Tween heaven and earth, the comforter of man; 
Soothing with gentle touch the hearts that bleed ; 
And ever pointing with her lily wand, 
Where the skies redden with the future's dawn; 
And ever whispering to the sore-oppressed, 
The words of promise, "I will give you rest." 



Hope never sees a shadow ; all is bright 
Where'er her sacred countenance doth shine. 
The present brightened by the future's light, 
Glows with a splendor, taintless and divine. 
The praises of mankind are justly thine, 
O thou fair artist, 'neath whose charmed brush 
The future 's voids with gems and roses blush. 



CHARITY. 

What strains can match the music of the heart, 
When love's vast organ swells the choral lay; 
When every gentler passion bears a part. 
And adds its fervor to the melody? 

(44) 



Then adverse natures into concord sway, 
And many hearts by love bound into one, 
Beat on in an eternal unison. 



Thus Charity, the fairest ^race of all, 
Binds soul to soul with an enduring band; 
That so united, none may fail and fall. 
Each Hfted by a brother's outstretched hand. 
And so we journey through a pleasant land ; 
Each helped and each a helper, every soul 
An endless part of an eteenal whole. 



(45) 



A DREAM OF THE IDEAL. 



The all pervading, all intense 
And everlasting force which moves 
The universe ; the power immense, 
Which was, and is, and yet shall be, 
Though suns grow cold and planets flee- 
'Tis this that guides us in our way ; 
That turns the glass of destiny. 
And shakes the clogging sands of time 
Until they flow in rippled chime. 



This boundless, universal will. 
That ruled of old, and ruleth still, 
As surely guides our brief careers, 
As heaven's constellated spheres. 

(46) 



The sun's fierce furnace-heat rolls forth 
Through ethereal space, and through the earth. 
It thrills with vivifying breath, 
And fullest hfe is born of death. 

Where all before was cold and dead, 
Vast whispering groves are widely spread ; 
Which stand and call, and call, and call. 
In breezy tones, to weary man. 
To cast aside his self-forged thrall 
And follow Nature's perfect plan. 



Thus the universe appeals; 
This is the Infinite's low call ; 
And he whose soul the impulse feels, 
'Tis his but to obey, or fall. 



Oft when the world is dim with night, 

And Heaven is rich with pulsing light, 

I seek some spot where Nature's sway 

Is all unbroken ; there, away 

From noise and babble, toil and strife, 

My spirit seeks its after-life. 

Nor vainly seeks ; for who can gaze 

(47) 



On the far-glowing breast of space, 
With heart unmoved, and soul content 
To bear its long imprisonment? 

Ah, then my spirit bursts its bars 

And rushes pulsing mid the stars ; 

Or splashes in a golden sea 

Of firey-vapored nebulae ; 

Where glories piled on glories lie, 

Where suns flash green and gold and red 

And worlds move to the melody 

Of their own rhythm. Splendors shed 

By flying meteors sparkle far, 

And systems swing without a jar. 



But Earth asserts her sovereign reign ; 

The bright reality is flown ! 

My spirit seeks its cell again. 

And up and down the world is blown 

By dusty winds, which from the sight 

Screen Heaven's everlasting light. 

But Earth holds many temples fit 

For worship of the Infinite ; 

Whose sun-built domes and colonades 



(48 



Call softly from their emerald shades, 
And beckon with uplifted hands, 
To all to join that mighty throng 
Where no grim priest in sable stands. 
To preach of right, and grin at wrong. 

Some seek the solitudes and there 
They live in a perpetual dream : 
A hermit's cell, a hermit's fare, 
Unbroken sleep, untainted air 
Give to the mind a brighter gleam. 

And some there are whom weariness 
Drives forth into the wilderness. 
Whom sable shadows haunt, and thrill 
With misery beyond their will ; 
And such have never failed to find 
A respite for the tortured mind : 
For Nature takes a mother's part, 
And sings soft songs of solemn sound; 
Whose cadence steals into the heart. 
And brings a rest serene, profound. 

A rest that deepens with the days, 
That slowly grows from more to more, 
And draws us onward to that shore, 

(49) 



Where sun-gemmed corridors upraise 
Their summits to Infinity, 
And where translucent glories blaze 
Bright into deep immensity. 



Such is not death; I only call 
That death, where dismal dirge is sung, 
Where ghastly coffin, somber pall 
Spread dark forebodings over all; 
And solemn knells are hoarsely rung. 



O Nature hath a funeral song 

That maketh death a thing to court. 

When life hath tedious grown, and long, 

And Time's gray locks are tossed in sport — 

Then gently lie beneath the shade. 

By interlacing branches made, 

'Till Day slips down through depths profound, 

And Night's soft splendor reigns around. 

And when the air is all perfume, 

From bending chalices of bloom. 

Feel Death's soft hand all gently pressed. 

With yielding pressure 'gainst thy breast. 

And, at the touch, so soft and light, 

Behold the heavens grow tenfold bright; 

(50) 



Each constellation blazing there 

Flash glowing diamonds through the air; 

And odors, lucious and intense, 

Thrill rapture through each frenzied sense. 

Then up from Earth will spring thy mind, 
Nor deem that aught is left behind, 
Up through the starry sphere ascend. 
From world to v/orld its journey wend. 
And mingling with eternity, 
Feel all the bliss to truly he. 



51) 



THE IDEAL. 



Alas that those ^\^ho shadows see, 
Are blind to keen reality. 



I was a wanderer in the way, 
A pilgrim on a dusty road 

I labored on for naany a day, 

And knew no shelter, nor abode. 

Thus wearily and lone, I sought 

For rest always, and found it not. 



My heart went out in truth to men. 
Went out in love and sympathy, 

But only to return again. 

Rebuffed and scoffed at, unto me; 

(52) 



Returned to 'gender noxious things, 
To burrow in the souls of men 

With scorn, as keen as serpents' stings, 
And hate unmatched in Pluto's den. 



And were it well that I should bear 

With empty hearts and shallow brains,— 

With fools who make small faults their care, 
Nor list to Nature's higher strains? 



And so I lived until there spread 
An atmosphere around my head 
That savored not of earthly things. 
An atmosphere as rich and bright 
As the wide border of the night, 
When in the west on weary wings 
The great Sun rests, and o'er the sky 
Rolls golden cloud-waves, vast and high, 



I saw a thousand glories glow; 

I saw a thousand splendors shine. 
And angel shapes moved to and fro, 

In beauty peerless and divine. 

(53) 



And thus I cast the world aside, 
And reared a kingdom of my own ; 

But brief space can the fabric 'bide 
When Fancy is the corner stone. 

While roaming o'er the dusty ways 
Surrounded by my glowing haze — 

My airy, empty nothingness — 
There came an angel to the earth — 
An angel pure, of heavenly birth. 

It came, and coming, bent to bless. 

It smiled away my clouds of gold 
And let the light of Heaven in; 

It bade my sealed heart unfold 

Its doors and fly once more to men. 

And now I hate and scoff no more: 
I wage no more the bitter fight; 

I ask not who ivas wrong before, 
I know that now we all are right. 

And as the shadows fade away, 
And Heaven reopens to my view 

I tune my voice in joyful lay, 
And sing the glory of the true. 

(54) 



A SONG. 



O my true love is fond and fair, 

O fair and fond for ay; 
Nor grandeur's glow nor love's deep snare, 

• Can win her heart away. 



Her house is rosewood, glass and gold, 
And hath a marble door; 

Its roof is greenest emerald, 

And matted deep the floor. 



O weary heart, be still, be still. 
And hush thy idle lay; 

For thy true love is cold and chill, 
Her soul hath flown away. 

(55) 



THE SACRIFICIAL LAMB. 



Still is the even; for the rain is o'er; 

The wind in fitful gusts has died away, 

And scarce a zephyr murmurs through the wood 

To sway the pendant leaf, or fragile flower. 

All calm and silently the day dissolves 

Into the crimson glow of early eve. 

How red the sun above the horizon hangs! 

How red the vaporous drapery hangs around ! 

But in the east the clouds droop dank and low, 

Nor gleam responsive to the western glow. 



The woods are silent, save the liquid drip 
Of rain-drops from the leaves on which they 

hang, 
And glow like pearls inlaid in emerald. 

(56) 



Within the center of the sacred grove 
The trees grow thin and scatter ; there the rose 
And fragrance-breathing shrub and hly tall, 
Nod o'er the thyme and night-shade and the 
grass. 

Within a bower, in which the roses twine 
And fall in glowing clusters, breathing forth 
Their scented breath upon the ambient air, 
Standeth the altar of the sacrifice. 



Rude is the structure, piled of unhewed tones 
By unartistic hands, but on it rests 
The lovliest of all created things — 
The sacrificial lamb — its spotless head, 
With woven lilies crowned, reposes light 
Upon the flinty altar's jagged edge. 
Around about its neck and snowy form, 
A wreath of dark green myrtle is entwined, 
Making a picture so divinely fair 
That angels might, entranced, behold the scene. 
But man has beautified to mar; for see. 
The gleaming knife is raised ; it falls, and lo, 
The bright blood gushes from the gaping rent, 
And dyes the circling flowers a crimson hue. 

(57) 



No sound of pain escapes the sacrifice, 
It raises from the stone its flower-crowned 

head, 
And looks in wonder 'round, as though to ask, 
**Why hast thou done it?" Death in mercy 

draws 
Her frigid cloak around the suffering one. 



O dost thou know a sacrificial lamb. 
Lying all mute upon Fate's altar stone? 
Once such an one I knew, but long ago 
The ruthless blow was struck, and long ago 
The lovely victim was consigned to dust. 
When early morning drew her dewy veil 
Wide over hill and valley, wood and field, 
The sacrifice was offered, and a soul, 
All bright with innate purity, returned 
Unto the sacred source from whence it came. 



But pause! No higher dare I hft the veil 
That hangs around a melancholy past! 



O, sacrificial lamb, sleep on in peace 
Among the garlands that surround thy rest 

(58) 



Each flower a token of a loving hand; 
Each hand directed by a loving heart. 
Sleep till the last great trump shall call thee 

forth 
To meet a God thou hast no cause to fear. 



Farewell, O lowly lying one, farewell! 



(59) 



A LYRIC. 



She stood by the gate when the sun arose, 
She stood there still when he went to rest; 

Her features set in a death-like repose, 

And her robes hung loose o'er her motion- 
less breast. 

O lady, fair lady, why weep alone. 

By that cold, cold column of pitiless stone? 



Sir William had sworn by the cross on his 
sword, 
By the scutcheon of pride by his forefathers 
borne, 



(60) 



By the Virgin, and Him whom the Virgin 

adored, 
That the pride and the plumage of York 

should be shorn; 
He swore that the white rose should wither 

and fail, 
Wild tossed by the tempest and torn by the 

gale. 

They bring forth the steeds and the banners 

unfurl, 
And the mailed retainers are loud in their 

cry — 
''A Warwick! a Warwick! our luck with the 

Earl!" 
And the hearts of the brave beat exultant 

and high. 
Ah, little thought they that that bright sun 

would set, 
Beneath billows of blood on the field of 

Barnet. 

When the voices of battle were hushed on 
that day, 
And the hot blood of valor lay stagnant and 
chill, 



(<^l) 



They numbered the warriors transfixed in the 
fray, 
And among them lay William, all pallid and 
still. 

And they found, 'neath the mail that encum- 
bered the dead, 

A fair painted picture, all ruffled and red. 



She stood by the gate when the sun arose, 
She stood there still when he went to rest; 

Her features were set in a death-like repose. 
And her robes hung loose o'er her motion- 
less breast. 

O lady, fair lady, why weep alone. 

By that cold, cold column of pitiless stone? 



(62) 



EXTEMPORE. 



[After reading the first part of Faust.] 

A grand and glorious drama, fraught 
With fullest life, and fullest thought — 
A garland which a master's hand 
Has woven for his native land. 



A garland twined of flaming flowers, 
Culled in the sun's declining hours, 
When all the west was massed with red, 
And far and wide its splendors shed. 

Scattered along the glowing band. 

Dark pine cones in strange contrast stand — 

The fuel of the witches' fire, 

When northern lights burn high and higher; 

When all the earth is wrapped in snows, 

And wild and wide the low moon glows. 

(63) 



Beneath her influence lit, they burn 
Till summer's warmth and bloom return 
Then, in their gathered ashes lies 
A charm of potent enterprise. 



'Round all a wreath of myrtle winds, 
And flowers and cones together bind. 



Thus was Germania's brightest crown, 

Completed, laid before her throne; 

A wreath which long her muse shall wear, 

A garland which no wind can tear. 

But which, defying time, shall glow 

Undimmed, though ages come and go. 



(64) 



THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM. 



The Lord is my Shepherd, no want shall en- 
cumber, 
By rivers of crystal He leadeth along, 
In pastures of verdure my spirit shall slumber, 
He restoreth my soul when temptation is 
strong. 

When into Death's shadow-wrapt valley de- 
scending, 
That fear-guarded entrance to Terror's do- 
main, 
Where shadow with shadow is fitfully blend- 

Thy rod shall direct me, Thy staff shall 
sustain. 

(65) 



A table of pleasure for me Thou appointest, 
With fullness of blessing my cup runneth 
o'er ; 
My head, with the oil of Thy love Thou an- 
nointest, 
My foes wonder, blind at Thy goodness and 
power. 



How blessed is my lot with a God to befriend 
me, 
With the lamp of His presence to brighten 
my way; 
Surely goodness and mercy through life shall 
attend me, 
And I'll dwell in His temple forever and ay. 



(66) 



A VISION, 



I. 



The moon lies pillowed on vapors red, 

Dreaming a dream of woe; 
For the cold light shed through her shifting 

bed, 
Has a wild and restless glow. 



The branches whisper their fairy tales 
And runes, with a rustle and sigh, 

As the sad wind presses their emerald sails; 
And waves them against the sky. 



'Tis a charmed time — yes, a charmed time- 

A mystical, mournful hour. 
When memories unto memories chime, 
With the measured beat of a poet's rhyme. 

And a soul-subduing power. 

(C7) 



II. 



Is it a dream that binds me — 

A vision of dire affright? 
Or see I thy form beside me, 

In the midst of the wan, wierd night? 



Is it the bell's sad rhythm. 

Borne down on the dank wind's tide. 
Or thy voice's mournful accents. 

Aroused from the grave to chide? 



Away, strange thought, and leave me, 
With thy soul-tormenting sting, 

For the mind is but weak and flimsy 
That can harbor so vague a thing! 



But, I felt in my lonely bosom 

A thrill of unearthly fear. 
And my heart grew sick with horror, 

For I felt that thy soul was near. * 

(68) 



III. 

Yes, the night is wan and weary, 
And fancies come and go; 

And the gates of my heart are open 
To their ceaseless ebb and flow. 

But the sad, fair face in that vision, 

So passionless and white, 
Stands placid and all unchanging, 

'Mid the chaos of the night. 

O mournful child of memory, 

O sad and lonely one, 
Thy watch is brief, for my life-star 

From the zenith slippeth down. 

Yes, down to the gulf unfathomed, 
Down, down to the somber flood; 

And its path along the heavens 
Is traced in a trail of blood. 

Depart, depart and rest thee, 
Let my soul, a space, be free; 

If there be wrongs unrighted. 
There is a yet to be! 

(69) 



IV. 

The moon lies pillowed on vapors red, 

Dreaming a dream of woe, 
For the cold light shed through her shifting 
bed, 

Has a wild and restless glow. 

The branches whisper their fairy tales 
And runes, with a rustle and sigh, 

As the sad wind presses their emerald sails, 
And waves them against the sky. 

'Tis a charmed time — yes, a charmed time — ^^ 

A mystical, mournful hour. 
When memories unto memories chime 
With the measured beat of a poet's rhyme, 

And a soul-subduing power. 



(70) 



ALONE. 

Where the haunted stream by the ruined wall 
Gushes and gurgles the whole night long, 

Where in quivering masses the star-beams fall, 
And the shades go trooping, throng on 
throng — 

Where the witch-lights burn with a wierd, wild 
glow 

In the unknown depths of the tangled wood, 
Where the moss-clad branches swing to and fro 

And whisper dark tales to solitude — 

'Tis there that the tomb of my past is built, 
'Tis there that the seeds of my future are 
sown; 

For the glass is broken, the sands are spilt. 
And I leave the life I have lived — alone. 



(71) 



When the hope that stood in the past so strong, 
By the fateful present is trampled and torn ; 

When unnumbered shadows troop and throng 
' Round the crimson fountains of bursting 
morn — 



'Twere best to depart to some desolate shore, 
To some wild, lone land, where all things 
are new; 
To forget that we ever have lived before, 
But in Nature's great bosom, where all is 
true. 



But the tree that grew by the bitter spring. 
By the Marah of life is smit with decay; 

And the poisoned ivy of memory will cling 
Till the oak that bears it has fallen away! 



And 'twere vain to seek for a grave of life. 
From the northern gloom to the tropical 
glow; 

All time is tortured by spirit strife. 

From the present deep into the long ago. 

(72) 



And he who would live where no man hath 
known 
The soul-stinging spasm of Agony, 
Would dwell where the dies of Fate are not 
thrown, 
Must flee from time and eternity. 

Then away with thy dreams of a happier lot, 
O Soul, and assume thy burden of care! 

For a hope that is fostered and yieldeth naught. 
Will double the load thou hast to bear. 

And perchance in the mystical, dim unknown — 
In the wide, wide ways of eternity — 

The weight that encumbers, aside will be 
thrown. 
And thou canst go forth exulting and free. 



(73) 



PASSING. 



Written During a Summer Excursion. 



The thoughts we have in the reign of light, 
Will steal away through the shades of night, 
As rays that are cast by a passing flame, 
Fade on the sight away. 



The vision that comes when night is supreme, 
Will be thought of as only an idle dream; 
And unbidden *go, as unbidden it came, 
Forgot in the cares of the day. 

^ (74) 



And thus they are passing, these pleasure-born 

hours, 
With their gushes of music and garlands of 

flowers — 
They are passing away to that mystical land 
Where the seas of eternity roar; 



Then seize the bright moments as swiftly they 

fly, 

For soon may the tempest obscure the fair sky, 
The mirage be dissolved, and the desolate sand 
Stretch widely thy pathway before. 



(75) 



LINES. 



When upward sweeps the laden cloud 

The withered forest sings aloud, 

For from the cloud a power shall give 

Its faded foliage strength to live, 

The noonday's light hath power to cheer, 

The noonday's heat hath power to sear — 

And he who, would enjoy its Hght 

Must be content to feel its blight. 



The maiden who is always gay 
May help to cheer the festive day; 
But when the hour of grief arrives, 
To soothe the soul in vain she strives, 

(76) 



Then she alone can bring repose 

Who drank where sorrow's fountain flows; 

Her gentle mien and saddened eye 

Lift the dark cloak of misery: 

There is a music in her voice 

That bids the sorrowing soul rejoice. 



Fresh be the bloom whose bright array 
Shall scent the air on festal day; 
But for the darker, drearier hour, 
The soul prefers the drooping flower. 



(77) 



THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. 



Mournfully, mournfully, 

Through the dark woodlands. 

Rings the sad voice 

Of the desolate whip-poor-will — 

Mournfully, mournfully. 

And in my lone heart 

Springeth an echo 

From feelings responsive. 

From chords which are tuned 

To the voice of the whip-poor-will. 



Dim in the distance. 

Like stars through the tree trunks. 

Glimmer the fires of the 

Gypsy encampment — 

Dim in the distance. 

(78) 



And ever the breezes 

So listlessly blowing, 

Bear on their bosoms 

The fragments of melodies — 

Wild-sounding melodies, 

Rising and failing, 

And blending their strains 

With the voice of the whip-poor-will. 



This is the charmed hour 
Sacred to memory; 
When her sad priestess 
Sings from the shadows. 
And the heart pauseth 
As mournfully bending 
Over some sorrow. 
Too deep for expression. 



Soon shall the blood and gold 

Mix in the sunrise; 

Soon shall the world awake 

Unto its sorrows, 

Its weary monotony; 

(79) 



So, while the heavens 

Are wrapped in their star-studded veil, 

Let me bow down 

At the temple of memory; 

Bow down and worship, 

While her sad priestess 

Mournfully carols 

Her soul-touching anthem — 

Mournfully, mournfully. 



(80) 



WORTH AND BEAUTY. 



I said that Beauty's dwelling place 
Is in the Jieart, and not the face; 
But still I thought, by some vague art, 
To view the face and read the Jicart. 



I said that there is set by Worth, 
No flaring stamp on forms of earth; 
But still I marked, the other day, 
To find the value hid away. 

(81) 



And now, I scofif at no mistake 
Which 'twas my evil lot to make; 
For well I know that I was right — 
That Worth and Beauty seek the light. 



I know that Virtue's heavenly glow, 
Bright beaming in the heart below, 
Expression finds in form and face. 
By angel smile and fairy grace. 



Where did I find this truth? ah! well- 
'Tis mine to know, but not to tell! 
But don't insist, for if I should, 
It would lit do you any good. 



(82) 



